Some Family We've Got
by L'ange de Tenebre
Summary: Spoilers through Ep. 18, Parasite. Claire and the Haitian leave Odessa far behind for the bright city lights and some old friends that could prove useful. NO Paire. ew. no. Finished!
1. Quelle Coincidence?

**Disclaimer: I don't own "Heroes" or any of the super awesome characters I'm writing about. I'm not making any money from this, so please, don't sue :P**

**A/N: This is just something I'm working on for fun. If you review and like it, I'll probably update. If not... eh, maybe not so much. I'm not really sure where it's going yet, lol. **

**"Some Family We've Got"**

**A "Heroes" Fic By L'Ange de Vrai**

**CLAIRE BENNET AND THE HAITIAN  
SOMEWHERE IN TEXAS...**

They'd been driving for several hours but the scenery still looked the same through Claire Bennet's tear filled eyes. What was going to happen to her? Where would she go? Would she ever see her family again? She wiped a tear from her cheek and continued to stare out the window of the SUV, letting her mind wander in the fields at the side of the road.

She wished she was five again, that she was sitting in the back seat of the car with her younger brother and her parents, driving somewhere on vacation. She wished she could be young and naive again and she'd be willing to sacrifice her ability for it. _I can't go back now,_ she thought solemnly as the man she still only knew as The Haitian drove on.

"Where are we going?" Claire asked him, the first words she'd spoken since her tearful farewell to the man who had raised her as his own.

"New York," he responded in his accented English. "There is someone there who might be able to help us."

Claire turned to him. "Peter Petrelli?"

"No, someone far more experienced in this matter than him." he told her. "He used to work with your father until he was caught hiding one of us. Your father thought he was dead until recently."

"How did he just disappear like that?" she asked, intrigued.

"A perk of being invisible, Claire." the Haitian replied, and for a split second, she could have sworn he'd smiled.

* * *

**NATHAN PETRELLI  
NEW YORK CITY**

Nathan Petrelli sat behind his desk, his feet propped up on the edge of it and the T.V. on in the corner of the room. He turned his attention to the newscast as an image of a charred house appeared on the screen.

"_A house burnt to the ground today in Odessa, Texas, after what bystanders claim was a standoff inside the house between two burglars and the Bennet family, who reside in the house. Mr. Bennet, his wife, and two children, Lyle and Claire, were all inside at the time until just before the explosion. Local authorities are saying that there were no severe injuries, but the house was giving off extremely high levels of radiation._

"_Now here's the troublesome part - After the family was checked out and released at a local hospital, Mr. Bennet and Claire, a 16 year old cheerleader at Union Wells High School, seemingly disappeared and there has been no sight of the alleged burglars. There has not been an Amber Alert issued for Claire Bennet at this time, as she's not believed to be in any danger, but we will be following the story for further developments. Now, back to you in the studio._"

The words of the reporter began to swim through Nathan's mind - Odessa, Texas; Union Wells High School; The Cheerleader - "_Save the cheerleader, save the world_."

"She can't be..." he muttered, bringing up a search engine and typing in 'Claire Bennet, Union Wells High School.'

He clicked on the school's website and clicked on the link for the cheerleading program. His eyes widened in surprise as the page loaded - there she was, Claire Bennet.

"Save the cheerleader," Nathan whispered. "save the world. I can't believe this."

He rubbed his temple and picked up his cell phone.


	2. Quelle Chance?

**DISCLAIMER: I own none of these people that I choose to write about - don't sue me, I'm broke enough as it is :P lol**

**A/N: Thanks for all of the reviews, everyone! It really means a lot to know that people are interested in reading more. Episode 18 is going to be the last one before the Hiatus so I think I'll probably finish this off somewhere in that, what, 5 weeks? 5 weeks?! ugh. That's an awful long time to go without seeing Peter Petrelli's hair. lol. **

**CLAIRE BENNET AND THE HAITIAN**

"There's nothing left of me," Claire grumbled, riding down the escalator. "Everything I am is going to disappear the second I get on that plane; my friends, my family... me."

"I can make you forget it all, if that's what you prefer. There's nothing left for you here, no one to trust. And no, you cannot see him again." the Haitian told her.

"Peter Petrelli is the only person I can trust, more than you! He cares about me, why can't I hide in New York with him?" she pressed.

"He's not in a position to be responsible for you, himself. Now, come." he replied.

Claire sulked behind him to the terminal where he handed her the boarding pass and a wallet.

"What's this?" Claire asked, flipping it open.

"I prepared that a few weeks ago, just in case, Ms. DeLille." he told her. "They are still tracking me so they know where I've taken you, but not where you are going. I will meet you there soon, Claire. _Bonne chance_."

Her lips curved into a small, grateful smile as she slid her new identity into her pocket. "Thank you. Be careful."

The Haitian nodded and left her there, standing in the middle of the busy airport and suddenly feeling tiny amongst the crowds. Claire checked the time on her ticket and headed off to the gate, stopping at the bookstore on the way to pick up the _New York Journal_. _I'd better try to fit in,_ she thought as she sat reading it.

Flipping to an article about the Congressional election taking place soon, Claire stopped to analyze a picture of the candidate from the sixteenth district - Nathan Petrelli.

_Nathan Petrelli, pictured here at a family brunch with wife Heidi, sons Simon and Monty, mother Angela, and younger brother Peter, is eight points down in the congressional race at the time of this printing. He made news last week when, at a press conference he held at his campaign headquarters, he announced that his father's death was a suicide and that brother Peter had made an attempt only a day earlier. Petrelli has run an honest campaign with strong moral and family values, and insists that family is everything to him, and he is currently helping his brother get the treatment he needs. _

"Oh my God," Claire muttered as she read, her mouth hanging open as she stared at the picture for another moment. She suddenly had the feeling that the Haitian was wrong - she _had_ to find Peter Petrelli.

**NATHAN PETRELLI**

**NEW YORK CITY**

"Hey, Pete, enough of this crap all right? I need to talk to you about something important, ok? Give me a call as soon as you get this." Nathan spoke into the receiver, pacing his office.

He placed the phone back on the desk and ran his fingers through his short hair, taking in a deep breath of air. Could this really all be connected? She was supposed to have been dead... could she really be the same cheerleader whose salvation meant hope for the future?

Nathan laid his head down on his desk in resignation and jumped as his phone went off. "Pete?" he asked.

"Nathan I've got a problem. A huge problem," Peter began.

"It can't be anywhere near as big as mine," Nathan countered - there was a pause. "Peter, are you all right?"

He could hear his brother inhale deeply on the other end. "Nathan, Simone is dead. Isaac shot her when he was trying to shoot me, he's been working for that Horn Rimmed Glasses guy you told me about. He found me the other night with this guy who can become invisible. I saw him, Nathan, and I recognized the guy. That cheerleader, Claire, he's her father! Are you there? Nathan?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm here, Pete. That's horrible about Simone, really. Stop by later today, all right? You've got to stop running." he told his brother.

"Yeah, I know, I'll stop by in an hour or two?" Peter returned.

"Great. You know where to find me." Nathan muttered before hanging up and hanging his head once more.


	3. So Close

**Disclaimer: Once again, I really don't own this series or the characters you might read about in this fic. I'm not making any money, I just write because 1. I'm going through withdrawl already, 2. I'm bored, and 3. It's fun :P**

**A/N: Thanks again for all of the awesome reviews, everyone! I'm really glad people are still interested in this one :)**

**CHAPTER 3  
SO CLOSE...**

**CLAIRE BENNET  
NEW YORK CITY**

New York City was a vast place for a small girl like Claire. She had set off the instant her flight had landed, running straight for a phone booth and reaching beneath it for the white pages. _Petrelli, P, P, P, it's got to be in here somewhere..._ she thought frantically, searching the listings. And with an audible "ah ha!," Claire found the page she was looking for. There were only a few Petrellis' listed, at the bottom left corner of the page.

She reached in her bag to get her cell phone to store the information in... And it wasn't there! The Haitian had made her leave the device at home - if it had even survived the fire. Claire dismissed this and ripped the corner of the page off that contained the Petrelli listings on it. Receiving change from a nearby coffee shop, Claire returned to the phones and began dialing the numbers. One after another were grumpy old men declaring she had the wrong number and that they didn't know any Claire. The last number she dialed ended with "We're sorry, but the number you are trying to reach has been disconnected," and she hung up.

Despite the feeling that she may be being watched, Claire took a final look at the addresses on the paper - the last one _had _to be his. She folded it up and put it in the pocket of her jeans, setting off towards the line of cabs she knew must be waiting just outside.

Her pack slung over her shoulder, Claire Bennet climbed into a taxi driven by a rather nice man she thought must be from Europe by his accent. She handed him the piece of paper from the phone book and pointed to the last one.

"I need to get there as soon as possible, please," Claire told him.

The man nodded, "Not a problem."

Claire slumped back in her seat and leaned her head against the window of the cab, looking up at the outside world. As excited as she was to be in New York City, she couldn't help but dwell on the events of the last day. Her mind wandered in and out of the city traffic as they drove on. They stopped in front of a building bedecked with American flags and a large sign, **NATHAN PETRELLI FOR CONGRESS!**

"Hey, can you stop here?" Claire asked, pulling some cash from her wallet.

She hopped out of the taxi and walked through the glass front doors into the largest office she'd ever seen. Nervously, she approached the secretary just inside the door.

"Can I help you, Miss?" the woman asked in a tone of voice that was clearly wondering what a sixteen year old was doing in a campaign office - she wasn't even old enough to vote!

"Um, yeah, I'm doing a report for my school paper and I was wondering if I could have a word with Mr. Petrelli, you know, like what route to go if you want to get into politics," Claire lied.

The woman smiled and held up a finger for her to wait just a second. She picked up the telephone and set it back down after a brief exchanging of words. "I'm sorry, dear, Mr. Petrelli has just left for the day. He'll be back tomorrow if you want to try again."

"Thanks," she replied, trying to disguise her frown.

Claire headed back out and attempted to hail another cab - to no avail whatsoever. She looked at the address again and realized she wasn't too far off. _I might as well walk,_ she mused, checking the street signs and blending into the crowd.

* * *

**NATHAN AND PETER PETRELLI**

Nathan's secretary, had in fact, lied to Claire. Mr. Petrelli had not yet left for his trip to Las Vegas - he had just discovered his brother, Peter, in his office. After a brief discussion about the death of Simone Deveaux, they were interrupted by Nathan's head of security, who he had dismissed almost immediately.

"Peter? Pete?" he asked into thin air, watching his invisible brother slide out the door before he could tell him anything about Claire.

He shook his head before grabbing his coat and his briefcase.

"Sir, I thought I heard your brother in there," his campaign manager began.

"I had him on speaker phone," Nathan replied. "I still haven't seen him."

He nodded. "Yes sir. Your limo is waiting outside."

Nathan stepped out onto the crowded city street, doing a double take as he saw a young, blonde haired girl with a pack slung over her shoulder turn away from the building, heading in the opposite direction.

"Are you all right, sir?" he heard vaguely, as he watched her out of the corner of his eye.

"Fine, I'm fine," Nathan replied, stepping into the car.

* * *

Peter liked his new found invisibility. Other than the impending explosion, he felt like he could walk around all day without making an impact on anyone. Right now, that's what he needed. Simone was dead because of him and who could tell how many more would die if Hiro was right about when the city would be destroyed? 

_Nathan is right,_ he told himself as he bumped into a snooty looking woman. _I need to find Mohinder, maybe he's made some progress._

But was a cure really what Peter wanted? He had spent his entire life being less than Nathan. Nathan got straight A's at school, graduated at the top of his class from law school, and was one of the most successful prosecutors in the country - and he'd always been their father's favorite. Peter had never heard the words spoken, but he knew it. He'd always wanted the same approval as his brother, but he was a dreamer, and dreamers were not tolerated in the Petrelli family tree.

Now Peter was special - he could fly, heal, become invisible, use telekinesis, stop time, read minds, paint the future, and who knows what else! He had the abilities to make a difference in the world and, as far as he could tell, the only difference it would do would be to blow up the city. He walked on through the crowds, headed straight for Mohinder Suresh's apartment. He had questions and he knew he could find answers there.


	4. Chance Meetings

**Disclaimer: I still haven't come up with the ridiculous amounts of money it would take to buy the franchise, so, no, I don't own "Heroes" or any of the featured Heroes I might write about ;)**

**AN: Again, amazing reviews everyone! Reviews are to me what brains are to Sylar! lol. In response to the latest review, yes, I am keeping this -very- canon, as you'll see in this chappie ;)**

**CHAPTER 4**

**CLAIRE BENNET  
NEW YORK CITY**

Claire knocked lightly on the door of the apartment the corner of paper she carried identified as being the apartment of one Peter Petrelli. She stepped back, hearing noise from inside. _What if its not him? _she pondered, suddenly feeling like running back to the stairwell. _What if his girlfriend answers or something? What if it is him and he thinks I'm mental and sends me back to Texas?_

The door opened abruptly and an impeccably dressed woman in her late fifties or early sixties stood behind it.

"I'm sorry, I hope I have the right address," she said softly. "I'm looking for Peter Petrelli"

"You picked a terrible time to do that. Peter's not here just now." the woman said, giving her a once over before continuing. "You may as well come inside, Claire."

Claire looked at her, her face radiating confusion as she stepped into the apartment.

"Vous aux maitenant a sur en securite," She said looking fondly, at her before turning to the man behind her. "Mais pas c'est vous."

The Haitian stepped out from the shadows of Peter Petrelli's apartment and began speaking in French to the woman. "Listen, I did everything I could. She would have found her own way eventually."

"Who are you?" Claire asked the woman.

Angela Petrelli smiled at her. "I'm your grandmother, and I've been trying to protect you, but you haven't made that very easy. Quite stubborn, aren't you? Just like your father."

She motioned for Claire to have a seat in the living room and sought out an armchair for herself. "Perhaps I should introduce myself?"

"You're Angela Petrelli," Claire said, quickly remembering the photograph from the article in the _New York Journal_. "I saw it in the paper."

"Yes. Then you also know that I have two sons - Peter you've already met. The other is Nathan. He's married, now, to a woman named Heidi, and has two other children - your half-brothers, Simon, who is five, and Monty, who is three." she told her granddaughter.

Claire sat, quietly taking in the same information she'd read in the paper. "I'm going to be a problem," she said softly.

"For Nathan at this very moment, yes. Our friend here was to take you out of the country for a while, but that backfired, didn't it? Another friend of ours followed you after you left the airport and let me know where to find you. My sons are being watched, Claire. They're being watched by the agency that your adoptive father works for, the one that our friend worked with until recently. He was in charge of watching Peter, and I highly doubt that anyone will be filling his place right away.

"Peter has been missing for several days. He fell into a coma after he saved you in Texas, Claire. He had a dream that he is the bomb that is going to blow up this city, and then he was out. For two weeks. He woke up, raving, and left the hospital. I haven't seen him since." Angela said.

"Is he all right?" Claire asked "And what are you talking about, a bomb?"

"There is a painter, here in New York - Isaac Mendez. He can paint the future. He painted an apocalypse on the floor of his studio, from what I'm told, and then a painting of an exploding man - Peter claims that after his dream he's the one who blows up, not a bomb, and that the exploding man in the painting is himself." she replied, failing to notice the shocked look on Claire's face.

Claire was taken aback by her grandmother's words, but was reminded suddenly of another incidence involving an exploding man. "There was this man, Ted, he was radioactive! Maybe it was him blowing up in the painting, he blew up my house!"

"That could be, Claire, but it doesn't explain how Ted Sprague is going to get to New York City when he's being held by The Company." Angela told her.

"But how can Peter explode?" she asked.

The Haitian entered the room and sat down across from her. "Peter Petrelli is a... sponge, for powers. He can fly, why? Because his brother can. He can paint the future because Isaac can. He can heal because of you, Claire. He can read minds because of Matt Parkman - the police officer who questioned you after Jackie was killed and the same who took you hostage, the one who shot you. He has many powers. Everyone that he meets who has any of these abilities, he absorbs this. He needs only to meet Ted Sprague to become the bomb."

"Perhaps you should get some rest, Claire. I'm sure you've had a busy day." Angela piped in, standing.

Peter's apartment was meager for someone in such a wealthy family, but it did have two bedrooms. Angela opened the door onto the spare room, and it was quite clear it wasn't used often. There were some boxes piled on top of the bed in the corner of the room, the T.V. wasn't plugged in, and there was a layer of dust over most of the surfaces.

"Peter had a roommate during school who moved out shortly after graduation. I don't think this room has been touched since - Remind me to tell him to clean more often," she said, fussing over the crinkled bedspread. "I hope this is all right."

Claire smiled for the first time since she'd been there. "Its perfect, thanks."

Angela Petrelli crossed the room and wrapped her arms around her granddaughter. "I know this is going to be awkward for a bit, but welcome to the family, Claire."

* * *

**PETER PETRELLI**

"Suresh?" Peter spoke loudly as he banged on the scientist's door. "Suresh?"

He pushed on the ajar door, moving a large pile of debris that blocked it. He entered the apartment and looked around. _What happened here?_

"It's Peter Petrelli," he announced, staring at a fallen IV stand. "Mohinder?"

Puzzled, he walked further into the space, feeling as though he were walking into a void. It was cold, dark, and ominous. Chairs were overturned, the contents of Mohinder's desk had been strewn about and knocked over, and the little trinkets that had probably belonged to his father, Chandra, lay broken.

He paused near a wall in the kitchen and felt something hit the top of his head. He touched it, reeling as he saw blood on his fingertips. A second later, a drop of blood splashed onto his face. Wiping it away, Peter looked up to see Mohinder Suresh pinned to the ceiling by some invisible force, blood dripping from his mouth.

"Sylar," he said in a whispered warning.

Before Peter knew what was happening, he whirled around to see a man just a bit taller than him, with short hair and an unidentifiable expression on his face.

"I remember you," he said, just before sending Peter flying against the wall, holding him there telekinetically, before grasping his throat with his hand. "You're like me, aren't you?" - he tilted Peter's face from side to side in examination - "I'd like to see how that works."

The man Mohinder had identified as Sylar made a slicing motion with his index finger and blood began to pour down Peter's face, his screams more excruciating than if he'd walked through fire. Sylar smiled in manic glee as a piece of Peter's hair fell to the floor, covered in the man's blood.

Peter's eyes clenched shut and he could feel the wound heal. Sylar let go of his hold on Peter's throat and backed away a bit, before running his finger over the area where he'd just sliced. It had taken a few moments to register, but Peter knew now exactly who this man was - The man who had been trying to kill Claire Bennet, the one who he'd absorbed his telekinesis from. Peter reached out with his powers and could almost feel the connection that Sylar was using to hold him up. He pried at it mentally for a few seconds, just as Sylar began to make another incision...

And then, in one swift movement, Sylar was flown against the other side of the room, landing with a resounding thud, and Peter and Mohinder both fell from the places where he'd kept them pinned.

Peter panted for a second, unbelieving of the situation he found himself in. Sylar glared at him as he pushed himself up from the debris strewn floor, and almost gasped as Peter disappeared into thin air, before causing the injured Mohinder to do the same. He could hear Peter grunt as he hefted Mohinder up onto his feet and make a beeline for the door.

Sylar smiled maliciously and pulled the door shut, locking it. "This is usually the part where people start screaming," he said, his voice giving Peter the idea that this man had grown to _like_ killing.


	5. Stacking the Deck

**Disclaimer: I'm still not making any money, nor do I intend to :P**

**A/N: Sorry about the long wait between chapters this time, everyone, it's been a bit hectic at work this week :\ Oh, and besides that, I actually have to be creative now and not just transcribe previous episodes ;) lol. I've also been doing a lot of speculating - I want this to end the way I think it's going to end, lol. That being said, read on and review!**

**--L'Ange ;)**

**CHAPTER 5**

**"Stacking the Deck"**

**NATHAN PETRELLI  
LAS VEGAS, NEVADA**

_All you have to do is pull the trigger, Nathan,_ he told himself solidly. His finger tightened around the trigger of the pistol. What was he, Nathan Petrelli, doing standing in this kitchen, aiming a loaded gun at this man? Linderman was a criminal, yes, and he'd always chastised his father for protecting such a man, but must he become the criminal, himself?

Nathan lowered the gun to his side and exhaled. _Not today,_ he thought,_ No, he'll get what's coming to him for all of the people he's hurt, but I'm not going to be the one to do it. Karma's a bitch._

He turned on the heels of his highly polished, Italian leather shoes, and walked out. Linderman watched over his shoulder as he slid the gun onto one of the stainless steel counters, smiling inwardly.

_He owns me now, _Nathan mused as he traced the path back to his room at the Corinthian. _I'm not going to be able to go another day without owing that man everything._

A life of happiness or a life of meaning - that was the choice that Linderman had given him. Nathan, despite having the constant thoughts of whatever it was that was consuming his professional life, was happy. He had an amazing wife and the most incredible children any man could ask for - so why couldn't he just slow down? Why did he insist on making politics his life when he had so much more to live for?

"Nathan," a voice called out behind him.

Had he really been too lost in thought to notice someone following him? He turned around, glancing back down the corridor to see the white haired Linderman standing at the end. Nathan stopped walking and waited for the man to catch up with him. Linderman had traded his apron for a suit jacket and was looking immensely more intimidating.

"There's something I'd like for you to see," Linderman told him. "It is something I believe will make a difference to you."

Nathan narrowed his eyes in skepticism, but for some reason, followed the man.

* * *

**PETER PETRELLI, MOHINDER SURESH, AND SYLAR  
NEW YORK CITY**

"This is usually the part where people start screaming," Sylar's words rang in Peter's ears, resonating as if they'd been shouted.

There wasn't much of a choice for Peter at the moment - he highly doubted that he'd be able to make it to the window carrying the bloodied Mohinder _and_ be able to gain enough altitude before crashing into the alley below. There was really only one thing he could do - fight. Peter whirled around and dropped his grip on Mohinder, unlocking the door with his mind, and opening it so that the man could escape. Something told him that Sylar wasn't going to chase the scientist.

"Yeah, well you're not used to people fighting back, are you?" Peter taunted, still invisible.

He reached out and felt his mind close around the handle of a knife. Peter picked it up and sent it hurtling towards Sylar. _This could end it all_, he told himself, concentrating on the weapon._I could be a hero..._ Sylar whirled around, a surprised look on his face as he saw the knife. Peter heard a loud clattering and the knife fell to the ground at Sylar's feet.

Sylar let a manic grin slid across his face as he began listening to the sounds around him. Dale Smithers' ability had seemed a burden at first, until he'd learned to control it. Now, in this moment, facing an invisible man, it was just the ability he needed. There, in the corner, that could only be a heartbeat...

Peter stiffened, heart racing, as Sylar turned in his direction. He made the best attempt possible to slow his breathing, having a feeling that it had become his tell. _Or is Sylar bluffing?_ he questioned. A sudden thought crossed Peter's mind, as Sylar started to cross the room towards where he stood. _That cop! In Texas! I could read his mind!_ Peter recalled.

He thought back to that moment in the Odessa Police Station, sitting there in the barren room and soaked in his own blood. He could almost replay the conversation in his mind as he'd been accused of being a pedophile and the fury that woman's words had sent through him.

_I can hear you, _Peter heard Sylar think. _You're scared, as you should be. So many powers in such a banal container, and in just a few seconds, they'll be mine..._

Peter fought back the urge to scream at the man that it would not happen, and remembered that he had the upper hand. Not only could Sylar not see him, he let his thoughts flow freely as he hunted his prey. He slid to the side, slowly, and watched as Sylar groped around in mid air for him. Peter narrowed his eyes and looked towards the window.

_Mohinder has got to be safe by now, _he told himself. _Someone will have found him, they'll help him. As for me, I've got to get out of here and warn the others._

He eyed the window and made a run for it, shattering the thin glass with the full force of his body and propelling himself upwards from the fire escape below. Sylar ran to the window and looked up, seeing only a thin cloud trail leading into the atmosphere.

* * *

**CLAIRE BENNET, ANGELA PETRELLI, AND THE HAITIAN**

"Did you sleep all right?" Angela Petrelli asked as her granddaughter made her way into the kitchen.

Claire nodded, tucking her long blonde hair behind her ear and taking a seat, her mind still overwhelmed by the information that had been piled onto her only a few hours prior. Her grandmother smiled kindly at her, pushing over a plate of food.

"Peter hasn't done such a good job at keeping his kitchen stocked, and I was afraid that some of the things in the fridge were terribly old, so I had our friend go get some things to cook," she told her. "Go on, eat. You look famished, dear."

"When I feel asleep, I had the craziest dream," Claire said after swallowing a bite of the chicken, finding it hard to believe that her grandmother had actually cooked. "Peter was in trouble, and not from blowing up. There was this, this bad guy. Um, I think his name was Sylar? He was..." she trailed off, lost for words.

"He was what, Claire?" Angela asked.

Claire met the woman's eyes. "He was killing him."

Angela Petrelli looked taken aback by the words that had just been spoken. "Have you ever had a dream like this before?"

Shaking her head, "No," Claire responded. "This was the only one. It seemed so real!"

The Haitian entered the room, gazing icily at Angela. She said nothing, but the man seemed to interpret her silence as an order and nodded his head before departing swiftly.

"We're leaving, Claire. I need to bring you some place I know you'll be safe." Angela told her abruptly.

"But what if Peter comes back? Shouldn't we wait for him incase something happens?" Claire blurted out, her voice panicked.

Angela just stood from her seat and reached for her purse. "Quite frankly, no. Knowing what I do so far, Peter is capable of taking care of himself. I had planned on this earlier, as he was already being trailed by the men your father work for. They would have noticed the activity here. Now, get your things - we're leaving."

**A/N: The chapter title, "Stacking the Deck", relates to someone in each group in the chapter having the advantage on someone - Linderman on Nathan, Peter on Sylar, and Claire, Angela, and the Haitian against The Company ;) Sorry this one was so short!! **


	6. Like Pieces in a Puzzle

**Disclaimer Time: Guess what boys and girls? I still don't own "Heroes"... which means I'm still broke.**

**A/N: Brains... er, reviews. Yeah, reviews, not brains. ew. You guys seriously rock, I'm so glad that people are still reading:) I'm sorry that this chapter is so short, but I'm really trying to stay away from the spoilers and write my own plot on this one lol. Please R&R ;)**

**IMPORTANT A/N NOW: Ok, so as previously mentioned, I'm staying away from the spoilers. But... NBC just posted new pics from Ep. 19. I've taken like 4 of these into my storyline. I'm pretty sure, (like 99.9) that my events won't happen on the show. I'm not even going to tell you which photos they are, but if you've seen them, you'll probably know. But yeah, like I said, it won't happen, and if it does, does it make me like Isaac, only with writing instead of painting?**

**CHAPTER** **6**

**CLAIRE BENNET, ANGELA PETRELLI, AND THE HAITIAN**

The dream had seemed so real to Claire - So real that she'd felt as if she were standing only a few feet away. She had never seen the future, never had a dream that felt as if it was happening at that very moment, so how could this possibly be? Claire hadn't felt this confused since her father - or at least, the man she'd called 'dad' for the past 15 years - had removed the bandage on her cut hand to see no wound beneath it.

_Maybe it was just a dream? _Claire thought, staring at her Converse All Stars in the back seat of her grandmother's car as the Haitian drove. Here she was, nearly 2,000 miles from the smoldering ruins of the place she'd called home, and just beginning to see how all of the pieces fit together. But if that were the case, shouldn't things be making more sense than this?

Claire looked out the window - They'd been driving for nearly two hours and the city had dissolved outside. There was countryside, trees, and houses around them, giving her a chill as she thought of Texas. _This is home now, _Claire told herself. _Forget about that place, it was all a lie_.

"We're almost there, Claire," Angela told her from the front seat of the Lincoln. "This is Hyde Park. It's a beautiful place. Much more relaxed than the city."

"What about Peter?" she asked in response.

Angela turned in her seat to look at her granddaughter. "Peter is fine, I'm sure. You just had a bad dream."

Claire exhaled and returned to examining a new scuff mark on the toe of her left shoe. Angela smiled at her before turning around and remained silent for the next fifteen minutes, when the car slowed and came to a stop.

"Nous sommes arrivés," _We have arrived_, The Haitian told them.

A huge house loomed outside of the window of the car. There were amber colored leaves on the brown tinged lawn and the whole place seemed to radiate warmth. Claire stepped out of the car, her pack slung over her shoulder, and suddenly feeling _extremely_ out of place. Her family wasn't poor, but they certainly didn't have money like this!

"Come inside, Claire. There's someone you need to meet," Angela told her, leading her up to the front door.

Angela rang the bell beside the ornate wooden doors with the intricate door handles on each one. There was a gilded knocker, but Claire figured that it was seldom used. There was a few moments before the door slid open and she found herself confronted by a beautiful brunette woman in a wheelchair.

"Hello, Heidi." Angela said warmly, as the door opened. "We need to come in."

The woman, Heidi, narrowed her eyes but let the three inside her home anyways. "What is it, Angela?" she asked, her smooth voice sounding concerned.

"The boys are at school, yes?" Angela asked her.

Heidi nodded, leading them into the sitting room down the hall. "Yes and Nathan is in Las Vegas, again. What can I do for you?"

Angela took a deep breath. "This probably won't be easy for you to hear. I suppose an introduction is in order, first. Heidi Petrelli, this is Claire Bennet. This is difficult, but Heidi, Claire is my granddaughter. She's your stepdaughter."

"What?" was the only word that she could manage. "How is this possible, Angela, what's going on?"

She began at the beginning. "Nathan met Claire's mother in college. They had a fling, they split up, these things happen. Meredith and Claire were both believed to be dead, but Claire had somehow escaped the fire or had been taken from it. She was adopted, but things at home have become a bit... unstable, to say the least.

"My friend here has brought her to us," she said, acknowledging the Haitian for the first time. "And we've got to watch over her for a bit."

"But what about Nathan's campaign, Angela? I mean, having his teenage daughter from a college romance showing up days before the election is not going to help him in this!" Heidi exclaimed.

Angela merely smiled. "The press will not find out about this, and if, by the slightest chance they do, I have this covered, Heidi. I will just tell them that Nathan was deeply in love with Meredith, that they were engaged to be married, and she ran off after she got pregnant, and had allegedly gotten them both killed, but by the absolute grace of God, the little girl survived. It's one of those tragedies that they'll eat up in a heartbeat. Now, do you have a guest room that we can get Claire situated in?"

**PETER PETRELLI**

Peter flew up, up, and away in his escape from Sylar, hoping that Mohinder had made it away safely. He had been airborne for less than a minute when he felt himself plummeting downwards, his head spinning in every direction. He focused all of his remaining energy into controlling his descent and keeping himself conscious - _What's wrong with me?_ he asked. He could see the green grass sprawling out beneath him and let himself tumble onto it, leaves and bits of grass and twigs sticking to his bloody trench coat.

He tried to lift himself up before the edges of his vision turned to red, then gray. Peter gasped for air, feeling blood running from a wound he was too incoherent to examine. He'd felt this way twice before, and realized at that moment that he'd died both of those times. _This is what dying really feels like_, he managed to muse to himself before he slumped to the soft ground.


	7. Le Morte de Peter

**Disclaimer: Still broke...**

**A/N: Omg can this be?! Another chapter so soon?! Why yes, yes it is! I think I'm on a roll here... "Let it ride-u!"**

**CHAPTER 7**

**LE MORTE DE PETER**

**HYDE PARK, NEW YORK**

"Here we are, Claire," Angela said as she opened the door to a large bedroom. "Go ahead and get settled in and I'll go have another word with Heidi. You can't blame her for being a bit shell shocked, of course."

Claire nodded before she spoke, "I hope this doesn't sound rude, but why is she in a wheelchair?"

The older woman sighed and the smile slid from her face. "No, that's all right. She and your father were in an accident. He was thrown from the car, no serious injuries. Heidi, your stepmother, was still in the car when it crashed."

"Oh," Claire responded.

"I've heard that you were in a car accident not so long ago, yourself, Claire. He told me everything. I know it's difficult for you, but you have got to leave that life behind. You cannot be Claire Bennet, the sweet, Texan, cheerleader anymore." Angela told her, staring intently at her vague expression.

"Everything is just happening so fast. I mean, like, a month ago, I was worried about SATs and Homecoming and if the Quarterback thought I was pretty or not," she confided in her grandmother. "And then everything just started spiraling out of control. I knew I was different and all, but to all of a sudden have someone trying to kill me... I probably wouldn't be here if it weren't for Peter."

Claire smiled slightly, knowing she'd get to see her hero soon enough. Her grandmother patted her gently on the arm before returning the smile and setting off, leaving Claire to herself in the big room.

She unpacked some of her scant belongings and took a shower and changed into the fresh clothes she'd bought just outside of the airport back in Texas. Sitting on the queen sized bed, Claire's thoughts drifted in and out of these amazing situations she'd found herself in. She thought about Peter, her knight in shining armor. She'd thought him very crush-worthy when they'd met at Homecoming, despite both ending up covered in blood before 8:30pm that night. Claire had been shocked to realize that her hero was actually her uncle, but that was ok by her - She had only met him twice and she knew already that she had family that truly cared about her.

Claire was just about to turn on the television when she heard a noise out on the lawn. She looked to see what it was, but didn't see anyone out there and went back to grab the remote.

* * *

Heidi had just wheeled herself into the kitchen when Angela came downstairs. 

"I'm sorry that this had to happen this way, Heidi," she told her daughter-in-law.

The younger woman glared daggers at her. "Why didn't anyone mention this before? Nathan and I have been married for ten years, Angela!"

Angela merely shrugged her shoulders. "That is something to ask your husband. I presume it would be that the memories were painful. Nathan truly did care for Meredith, although he hadn't met Claire before the fire. I don't tell you this to make you feel bad about not being the only woman my son has ever been in love with, I'm telling you this because it might make you realize that he has dealt with painful things in his life, Heidi.

"Seeing you in that chair kills him every day, knowing that it happened to you and not him - and that it was because of him."

Heidi sat silently, taking a sip of her coffee. "Right, I'm sorry. We'll have a lot to talk about when he gets back, but I'm sure he's got his reasons. Coffee?"

"Yes, don't worry, I'll get it," Angela replied with a smile, feeling accomplished for diffusing the situation so efficiently - her daughter-in-law really was an amazing woman and, while they might not always see eye to eye, she really did despise arguing with her. "You do so much already!"

"Oh don't tell me your fawning over my condition now, Angela," Heidi replied jokingly.

"I wouldn't dream of it," she said. "I just happen to know what it's like raising two boys and having to deal with Nathan."

The women shared a laugh that was interrupted by the sound of something hitting the grass outside.

"Stay here," Angela told her as she shot out of the room, nearly colliding with the Haitian on the way to the door.

"Séjour ici," _Stay here_, he repeated to Angela as he rushed outside, hand on the weapon in his jacket.

Angela waited with bated breath as the moments passed by before he returned. He appeared to be limping slightly and then she realized the cause. He was hoisting a person, a body, towards the house. Both men were covered in blood as they came through the door. The Haitian turned around and Angela nearly fainted at the sight - the man he carried was Peter.

He laid his body out on a long piece of furniture in the living room and stood over him for a moment. Angela rushed to his side and checked his pulse, only to find nothing. Tears streamed from both eyes as she looked at him, lying there as though he was in a deep sleep.

"Il est mort," _He is dead_. He told her, his deep voice ringing with a touch of solemnity.

"No," she breathed as she laid her head on his torso, sobbing. "Not this."

Claire had just heard the front door open and close over the noise from the news program she'd been watching. She stood up, pulling on a jacket, and left her room to go downstairs. She froze on the staircase, looking down at the most horrific, macabre scene she'd ever come across. There was Angela, sobbing, and who was that?

"No," she breathed, rooted to the spot and not wanting to interrupt her grandmother's mourning.

Her face was contorted into something between shock and grief and all she wanted to do was to go down the rest of the way and be with her family. _How can he die? _She wondered to herself, still taking in the scene. _They told me that Peter has my power, so he can't die!_

Just as these words crossed her mind, she saw Angela sit bolt upright and watched as the fingers on Peter's hand began to move, ever so slightly. He was alive, but only just. There was something keeping him from healing, just as had happened to her the first time she'd died.

Claire watched as Angela pulled a shard of glass from Peter's body and saw that it was dripping blood as she set it aside. Angela stared at her son as the wound healed and he began to sit up, rubbing his head.

Angela embraced Peter, who had clearly not quite figured out what was happening or where he was. He made a move to hug her back before his eyes darted to the young blonde girl watching from the staircase.

"Claire?" he asked, holding his mother at arms length, his gaze questioning. "What's going on here?"

She smiled, and placed her hand on his blood spattered cheek. "Claire is going to be staying here for a little while, Peter. She's your niece."

Despite having just been dead, Peter's face broke into one of those crooked smiles of his that Angela hadn't seen in far too long and he leapt up from the blood stained furniture. He crossed the room and climbed the stairs to hug his niece, giving her a rather loud kiss on the forehead.

"Welcome to the family, Claire!" he exclaimed as she smiled.

_So this is what family feels like,_ she thought.

"Yeah, yeah it is. It's great." Peter said, earning an odd gaze from Claire. "I can read minds - you might want to be careful - I'm sure I could get a lot of blackmail on ya."

Claire laughed. "Hah, yeah, well you might want to go wash off that blood before you try - people might think you're a psychopath, otherwise."

**Please R&R - remember, ReviewsBrains... er, inspiration...**

** Yes, I know 'morte' should probably be 'mort', no 'e', as it's talking about a man, but it's borrowed from "Le Morte d'Arthur" (about well, King Arthur). I just changed the d'Arthur to de Peter. Arthurdead hero. Peterdead hero, or so you think ;)**


	8. Recovery

**Disclaime: Yup, still broke. :(**

**AN: Sorry it was so long on the update and this chapter isn't really as long as I'd have liked, but chapter 9 will be here soon ;)**

**CHAPTER 8**

**NATHAN PETRELLI**

The flight had gone without incident, the landing a bit bumpy, and the baggage claim, thankfully, avoided thanks to his carry-on. Nathan was greeted by his campaign manager just outside of the airport and was ushered into his waiting car, sunglasses obscuring him slightly from the throngs of people.

"How was your trip, Mr. Petrelli?" Charlie asked, conversationally.

Nathan didn't respond. He stared out of the dark tinted windows, watching the city pass by as they left it behind. _Tell me, Mr. Petrelli, are you an art lover?_ Linderman's voice resounded in the depths of his mind. He began recalling the images - most of them those of Isaac Mendez - and what they meant for him, for his family, for the _world_.

The car came to a stop outside of Nathan's estate in Hyde Park and he furrowed his brow at the car parked in the drive. _What is she doing here?_ He climbed from the vehicle, taking his briefcase along, and headed into the house. The first thing to draw his attention was the smell of blood and the sight of Heidi and Angela trying to clean it off of a sofa.

"What the hell is going on here? Mom? Heidi?" Nathan asked. "Is everything all right?"

Angela looked up at her son, glad that they were finally all in the same place at the same time.

"Your brother is here, Nathan," Angela told him. "He's upstairs getting cleaned up."

Nathan surveyed the blood trail from the front door and the red splotches on the upholstery. "Is he all right? I mean, that's a _lot_ of blood!"

"He's fine, Nathan," Heidi said, smiling at her husband. "Simon and Monty are still at school and your mother has volunteered to go pick them up in a little while."

"And?" he ventured. "There's got to be something else."

Angela sighed. "There's someone here to meet you, Nathan."

His thoughts automatically ventured to the 'disaster' genre. If it was who he thought, it could _only_ spell disaster... Nathan headed upstairs, taking his case with him to file it away in his office. He opened the door to see Peter standing by a window, soft light streaming in on him.

Peter turned around suddenly and gave Nathan a smirk. "How was Vegas?"

Nathan shrugged. "Not bad. Have fun losing blood on my furniture?"

The brothers embraced for a moment, relishing in the fact that, no matter how they disagreed, they were still family.

"I died, Nathan," Peter told him, his voice small, reminding Nathan of the little boy he'd grown up with. "This," -he held up the bloody glass - "this was _in_ me. I went to see Suresh and there was this guy, Sylar, he's the guy that was trying to kill Claire in Texas, and he was killing him. He had him pinned to the _ceiling_, Nathan. Then he, tried to kill me, he was splitting my skull open.

"I got this when I flew through a window and then I died when I got here. The next thing I knew I was in your living room and mom was crying, and then Claire was there!"

Nathan raised an eyebrow. "Claire? The cheerleader? Are you sure you're all right, Pete?"

"I'm fine Nathan, she's down the hall. I can't believe you didn't tell me!" Peter shot back.

"Tell you what?" he ventured.

Peter shot him a questioning look and they found themselves interrupted by a small knocking on the door. He crossed the room and pulled the door open, Claire standing on the other side.

"Hi," she said, her voice ringing with the twang that both of the Petrelli brothers' accents lacked. "Do you want to meet me now?"

And there she was - the girl from the picture Meredith had shown him, the cheerleader from Union Wells High School, the girl from the painting of the autopsy slab that Linderman had showed him. Here she was, looking tiny as she peered in through the crack in the door that her uncle had opened.

"I guess you two should talk," Peter offered, guiding Claire into the room and letting himself out, the door clicking behind him as he went.

"Hello, Claire," Nathan said softly. "It's good to finally meet you."

Claire turned her attention away from his gaze, her eyes flitting about the room and taking in her surroundings. "Why didn't you want to meet me before? Why did you leave my mom in the first place? Didn't you want me?" she asked, her voice tinged in pain.

Nathan sighed deeply and leaned against the edge of his hardwood desk. "Meredith and I, we just weren't meant for each other. I fully supported her in carrying the pregnancy to term instead of getting an abortion like a lot of women her age would have done, and I sent her, and you, money until..."

"Until the fire?" Claire asked.

He nodded. "Yeah. I went to Meredith's funeral and that's when I realized that I shouldn't have let her, or you, go in the first place. It hurt to know that I was never going to meet you, to see you grow up, because, if that hadn't happened, I could have seen us all in a much different place right now. I'm sorry things happened like this, Claire."

She smiled slightly. "No, you're not. I saw pictures of Simon and Monty, and Heidi is great. You're happy, right?"

"Yes, I'm happy. I'm sad that I couldn't be there for you - my mother is right, I'm a sap. When I saw the pictures that Meredith sent me right after you were born, I melted. You had these, pudgy little cheeks, and the prettiest eyes."

Claire blushed, turning away - she hated how people said her chubby cheeks were cute! "It's ok," she replied. "I was happy, too. Even after I found out I was adopted, I still knew that they loved me. Even now, I know my dad works for some really bad people but he's risked everything to keep me safe. That's why I'm here."

Nathan stood up and took a few steps forward, embracing his daughter. "You can stay here as long as you'd like, Claire. You're safe here."

She wanted to smile, to feel safe, but after all she'd been through, that was hard for Claire Bennet. Or Claire Petrelli. Or Vivian Lewis - Whoever it was she'd become.

* * *

**MOHINDER SURESH  
BROOKLYN**

Mohinder Suresh had found himself waking up to bright, white lights, and the sounds of hospital staff rushing around him. His head pounded, but perhaps that was from the lights. He jogged his memory as far back as it could go - there were only flashes. The room blurred as he was flung into a wall. A chair hit him in the face, causing him to stagger backwards, falling. Peter Petrelli called out his name. Peter pushed him out of the door... Peter! Where was he now? Had he survived?

"Doctor, he's awake," Mohinder heard the young nurse beside his bed call out.

She began reading off his vitals to the brunette woman who stood beside her in a long white coat, holding a clipboard.

"Mr. Suresh, can you hear me? I'm Dr. Johansson, it looks like you've had a bit of a rough night," she told him, looking down through her glasses.

"I'm fine," he told her, his voice raspy from lack of use. "I need to find Peter Petrelli."

The doctor narrowed her eyes. "Is this Peter Petrelli the one who did this to you?"

Mohinder shook his head slightly, "No, he's in grave danger, possibly dead. Was there anyone else found at my apartment?"

"You need to rest, Mr. Suresh," she told him. "I'm sure we can figure this out later."

"No!" he exclaimed suddenly. "I need you to let me out of here, I'm fine. I need to find this man - his life depends on it!"

And with that, Mohinder removed the I.V. from his arm and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He had lied - he wasn't fine. Every inch of his body hurt, but there seemed to be no severe damage, just cuts and bruises. _How I wish I had spontaneous tissue regeneration_, he mused.

"I'm leaving," he told the woman. "And it's _Doctor_ Suresh."

* * *

**Mohinder is so badass.**


	9. We Can Be Heroes

**AN: Sorry I took so long on the update - it's harder to have to think for yourself without putting in spoilers! lol. Hope everyone is making it through the hiatus with sanity intact - mine's kind of touch n' go, especially on Monday nights :S Thanks for all of the reviews, they really keep me going. It's really great to know that people are still into reading this little brainstorm o'mine :) So please R&R - Remember, ReviewsBrains. ;) **

**CHAPTER 9**

**"WE CAN BE HEROES"**

**THE PETRELLI FAMILY**

**HYDE PARK, NEW YORK**

Nathan Petrelli smiled genuinely for the first time in weeks as he sat in his office, talking to his daughter. He'd been terrified when Meredith had called, but now that had all changed. _Mom was right_, he mused again. He had gotten the feeling that she was even before he had left for Kermit, Texas, but had acted heartless when he'd met his former girlfriend. After she'd told him that Claire had left, he had changed his mind about meeting her - he told himself that it was for the best. How wrong he had been.

"Meredith lied to you," she told him. "I didn't leave, I was hiding outside. It was me that threw that rock at your window - sorry about that."

He smiled. "It's all right, I understand you were upset with me, and you had every right to be. So, Peter tells me you've got a special talent off of the cheerleading field?"

Claire smiled and reached for the letter opener on her father's desk. She plunged it into her forearm and pulled it out roughly, leaving behind a nasty gash. Nathan raised his eyebrows at her, looking confounded before grinning as the skin healed over, leaving it looking just as it had before.

"That's incredible," he remarked, still amazed at how perfectly the wound had healed.

"Any more incredible than you flying or Meredith setting fires with her bare hands?" Claire replied with a grin.

Before Nathan could say anything, his phone began ringing on his desk. "Hang on, I should take this. Hello?"

"Mr. Petrelli, your brother," Mohinder began on the other line.

"He's fine, Doctor. He's here at my place, now." Nathan told him. "Are _you_ all right? He told me you were pinned to a ceiling."

"Well, I'm not in perfect condition, but I'm alive. What about Sylar? Has he said anything about him?" he asked.

"Nothing specific," Nathan replied. "Perhaps you should meet us here? I'm in Hyde Park."

Mohinder paused, "Yes, I'll meet you there."

Nathan gave Mohinder his address and let out a sigh as he hung up the cell.

"Is everything all right?" Claire asked.

He sighed deeply and replied, sounding exhausted. "The man that tried to kill you at your homecoming, this, _Sylar_, is here, in New York. He's the one that Peter was running from when he came here."

Claire frowned - this was _too_ much drama, even for a teenager.

* * *

**SYLAR**

**NEW YORK CITY**

There was the list, all his. He felt a sense of fulfillment, reading the names of those closest to his current location - Isaac Mendez - a precognitive painter; Nathan Petrelli - flight; Peter Petrelli - empath. There were sure to be others, but these ones he knew how to reach. _The closer, the better,_ he thought, picking up the piece of paper with Isaac's address and phone number on it, memorizing the lines with one glance.

Sylar smiled to himself as he traversed the city streets he'd known as Gabriel Gray. The city was no place for him then. Mild mannered, glasses wearing, time piece restoring Gabriel Gray had been replaced by Sylar. Not Gabriel Sylar, not Sylar Gray - Just Sylar. Gabriel Gray had been so unassuming, so inconsequential - now, here he was, able to mold the future of the entire human species. _I can be a hero_, he mused as he smiled slyly to himself. _215 Reed Street..._

* * *

_**Meanwhile...**_

Isaac Mendez set down his brush and pallet on his work bench and stared at the canvases as the mist faded from his eyes. There were five paintings in all, four of them depicting himself as Hiro Nakamura had described him - very much dead. Then, on the fifth canvas, was a man standing over Isaac's corpse, blood dripping ominously from his hand. _The man who cuts off heads_, Isaac narrowed his eyes at the figure. _He's coming for me_.

* * *

Mohinder Suresh paid the cab driver the enormous sum that it had taken to get from New York City to Hyde Park before stepping out onto the driveway of the address that Nathan had given him. He walked gingerly up to the front door and rang the bell. The door opened a few seconds later and Peter Petrelli stood on the other side.

"Suresh," he greeted him, inviting the man in. "I'm so glad you're all right!"

He smiled slightly. "I could say the same of you. Where is Sylar?"

Peter led Mohinder up to Nathan's office where the three of them sat down around the desk. "He got away, Mohinder. I flew out of the window, literally, to get away. I was hoping that you had gotten away by then.

They filled each other in on the events of the last several days - About Mohinder and "Zane", Peter meeting Claude, and about Claire's escape and her adoptive father being "the man with the horn rimmed glasses". Peter also detailed the death of Simone Deveaux in Isaac's apartment.

"I should go back there," he said, his voice soft but even. "Isaac and I don't see eye to eye, and he's probably just going to try and shoot me again, but maybe I can talk some sense into him after he empties his entire clip into me and realizes that I can't die."

Nathan let out a derisive snort. "I don't think you have to worry about that one, Pete. I made that anonymous call before I left for Vegas - Isaac is probably behind bars by now."

"He's not," Mohinder interjected. "Sylar tried phoning him not long before Peter found me - his phone was busy."

"How can that be?" Nathan puzzled aloud. "I told them that I'd heard gunshots coming from his apartment!"

"Mr. Bennet, the horn rimmed glasses guy - He's had Isaac in his pocket all along. Maybe he had him clean up his mess for him?" Peter suggested. "I'm going back there. If Mohinder is right about this, he might already be dead."

Peter picked up his coat from the chair where he'd left it and put it on, leaving the office without another word. He walked down the stairs of his brother's estate and suddenly heard a voice call out behind him.

"Hey," Claire said. "Where are you going?"

"It's time to go play hero again," Peter replied, smiling slightly in hopes of erasing the hint of fear in her voice. "I'll be back before dinner."

Claire watched as her uncle became invisible and then saw the front door open and close, as though of it's own accord. _Some family is right,_ she told herself.


	10. Some Family

**Disclaimer: Tim Kring is raking in the big bucks. Me? Not so much.. or, at all.**

**A/N: Another update! So soon? Why of course! Please R&R - Note: I'm trying sooooo hard to stay away from spoilers! Stupid Ep. 19 spoiler pics. There's only one spoilery thing in here, but it's kind of one of those things that you can pretty much expect... I guess. I have a guess of what is going to happen in the episode so I changed the storyline around to not match up with that one and be completely different :) Only twenty more days to go...!**

**CHAPTER 10**

**"SOME FAMILY"**

**ISAAC MENDEZ**

**NEW YORK CITY**

There was a loud rapping on Isaac's door and he nearly pulled the trigger of the gun he was holding. _It's probably just Peter_, he told himself, dropping the gun onto his work table. _Simone is dead but killing Peter isn't going to change that._ Isaac crossed the apartment and opened the door.

"Isaac Mendez?" the man on the other side asked. He was dressed in all black, clean shaven, his hair cropped short.

"Yes, you are?" Isaac countered, suspicious.

He smiled politely and offered a handshake. "I'm Gabriel. I saw some of your artwork in a gallery once and was intrigued."

Isaac ran a hand through his hair, and although he knew it felt wrong, invited the man in. "Can I get you anything?"

Gabriel examined some of the new paintings as Isaac made for the kitchen. "No, no, that's all right. These paintings, is this you?"

"Um, yeah, it's something I'm working on for a new project. Kinda weird huh?" Isaac replied.

He pointed to the man standing over Isaac's corpse. "Is this a character you plan on introducing in '_9th Wonders!'_?"

"He's been in the works, yes. So you're a fan?" Isaac ventured.

The man smiled widely. "Oh, yeah, definitely. I've read every single one!"

Isaac had the vague feeling that he was lying - perhaps it was because he'd noticed that this Gabriel and the figure in his latest painting shared certain similarities, or perhaps it was just because he knew that he might soon be dead.

"He was in the latest issue, did you happen to catch his name?" he asked.

"No, I've been busy, I might not have caught that one," he replied. "I'll have to pick up a copy."

"No need," Isaac replied, walking to his work desk and picking up a copy of the comic book and the gun, keeping it out of view. "Here, have a look now."

Gabriel opened the book and by the time he looked up, the barrel of the gun was pointed at his forehead. He let out a sigh and let the book fall shut. "Sylar. You don't think that I'm him, do you?"

"I can paint the future. These paintings, they're all of me dead, and that" - he pointed to the dark figure - "that's you! So Gabriel, or Sylar, or whoever the hell you are, you might want to think twice."

Sylar smiled cruelly. "If you can paint the future you also know that the gun that you're holding isn't going to do much, as you've painted it next to your own body."

He made a flicking motion with his hand and Isaac let out a yell as, for the second time, he was being hurled telekinetically across his own studio. Isaac fell to the ground with a thud, skidding across the painting of the apocalypse on his floor, the gun clattering just out of reach.

_This is it,_ Isaac mused, smiling to himself as Sylar towered over him. _I am going to die_.

* * *

**THE PETRELLI FAMILY, MOHINDER SURESH, THE HAITIAN**

**HYDE PARK, NEW YORK**

"Did he leave?" Nathan asked as he bumped into Claire on the stairs.

Claire nodded. "He said he'd be back soon."

Mohinder joined them only a second later and they all walked downstairs. Angela, Heidi, and the Haitian were all sitting in the large living room, each with a cup of coffee. Claire smiled to herself - she couldn't picture the mind-wiping Haitian doing something as normal as drinking coffee. _Nothing is normal anymore_, she reminded herself.

"Peter went back to the city - he's got this delusion that the painter, Isaac, is in danger."

Angela nodded. "Isaac Mendez, yes, I know. And your brother is right."

He narrowed his eyebrows. "How do you know all of this, Mom?"

She sighed. "Well, I guess it's about time that you knew the truth, Nathan, but I'll save the full version for when Peter comes back. With the exception of Heidi and Dr. Suresh, we are all... talented. I suppose the easiest way to describe my power is Omniscience. I discovered that I have a knack for seeing things as they happen and for having an understanding of people and what to expect from them.

"It's how I knew that Claire was going straight to Peter's apartment before she had deserted my friend in the airport. And, for the record, your new friend, Hiro Nakamura, he has indeed stolen Mr. Linderman's sword."

Claire flushed at what was said about her. It really was horrible what she'd done, but she didn't regret it - if she had been obedient she could have been half way around the world for all she knew.

"_Si quelqu'un avait prêté plus d'attention…_" her grandmother's French broke her reverie.

The Haitian responded in rapid fire, "_Nous avons été par ceci ne nous avons pas ? Je ne peux pas l'aider qu'elle a été placée sur l'évasion._"

She'd had enough. "_Je parle française!_" -Everyone in the room turned their attention to Claire. "I know exactly what you're saying about me! If you want to think I'm a problem child, go ahead and think it, but I'm not. I've been lied to and deserted by everyone who should care about me and I've decided to make a stand and take control of my life."

Her new family looked stunned at her sudden outburst, but it was to be expected. Claire was not seen as a "problem child" to these people. They all knew what she was going through and could relate - even Heidi and Mohinder who had both faced life altering experiences within the last several months. Claire had been leading a normal life up until recently and now she had to adjust to new surroundings, a new ability, and to meeting her real family. It was all a bit overwhelming.

Angela stood up and walked to where her granddaughter stood beside her father and the geneticist and gave her a hug. "I'm sorry about that, Claire. I know this is a difficult time for you - you're just going to have to learn to trust us, _ma chère, d'accord?_ "

Claire nodded, feeling that she'd be better off not to speak again. In the back of her mind she wished that she could receive another of Sandra Bennet's hugs again. _Why am I thinking of her as Sandra now?_ Claire mused. _I may never see her again, but she's still my mom._

"Ok, I hate to break up this nice family moment and all, but shouldn't we be concerned about what Peter is up to?" Nathan interrupted. "I mean, this guy is clearly dangerous and Peter is well, he's Peter. He's still convinced he's going to save the world."

"Save the cheerleader, save the world - he saved me, didn't he?" Claire replied. "I think that maybe you should have a little bit more faith in him, Dad."

And Claire stopped in her tracks - she'd just called this man "Dad," something that had been reserved for the man who had raised her. She knew that Nathan was just as surprised as she was by the look on his face. She smiled for the first time before speaking, "Some family, huh?"

* * *

**Meanwhile...**

Peter Petrelli looked in through the windows of Isaac's apartment. There was Isaac, lying pinned to the floor, the gun that had killed Simone just beyond his fingertips. And there, kneeling beside him, was Sylar.


	11. The Ties That Bind

**Disclaimer: Tim Kring and NBC own Heroes, not me. If I owned it, I **wouldn't** be posting this - I'd be lying on some beach, drinking rum with Milo Ventimiglia ;) lol.**

**AN: "This is an assignment... you do remember assignments, right?" This is not an assignment, it is an update, and I do remember those. I really need to stop drawing Peter Petrelli and Hiro Nakamura on my new Wacom tablet and write every once in a while lol. Expect an end to the story within the next two weeks. Probably about 4 more chapters in there, _possibly _more if I can... Enjoy, R&R... I need some brains... er, reviews... oO**

**CHAPTER 11**

**"THE TIES THAT BIND"**

**PETER PETRELLI, ISAAC MENDEZ, SYLAR**

**NEW YORK CITY**

_Isaac may have killed Simone, but that's no reason to let him die,_ thought Peter as he surveyed the scene. _He's probably heard me by now._ Peter took a deep breath and slipped through the door, making virtually no noise at all. He left it open a crack to avoid attracting his attention and eyed the banister above his head. Peter flew up to the beam, still invisible, and hoping that he hadn't made too much noise.

Sylar looked over his shoulder and smiled at the ajar door - he liked smiling, especially when he was doing it out of spite. He looked up just in time to see Peter flying down at him, his foot connecting with Sylar's face.

Peter rolled onto the floor and stood up quickly, just in time to dodge the canvas that Sylar had sent flying in his direction. He reached out for the nearest paint can and hurled it at Sylar, who deflected it as though it was just a minor annoyance to him.

On the other side of the room, Isaac sat in the corner, covering his head from the flying debris in his studio. _Why is this happening to me?_ he questioned, watching as the two men battled. Sylar suddenly pulled a new card out of his sleeve - The can of paint that Peter had thrown had opened mid air and just before it hit him, the red paint froze in an arc and fell, shattering on the floor.

Peter grinned - two could play at that game. He opened the nearest can, deflecting the items that Sylar threw at him in the back of his mind, and used his full consciousness to levitate the mass of paint, freezing it into spears. Sylar's eyes widened as the force of the "paint-sicles" hit him in the chest and let out a loud yell as he was thrown through the window of the apartment. Peter ran to the mass of broken glass and stood on the windowsill, looking down at where Sylar lay motionless in the alley below.

"Is he dead?" Isaac asked, joining Peter.

He shrugged. "It looks it, but then again, I've died before."

And with that he leapt from the window, his coat slowing his descent until he kicked in with his flying ability to land lightly in a crouched position a few feet from the killer. Peter walked up to the man silently and checked his pulse. _Definitely dead,_ he mused. He vanished before flying back up to the loft.

"He's dead. Come on, let's get out of here." He told Isaac. "I'll fly us out of here, we should get to Nathan's."

"No, I'm not leaving." Isaac stated resolutely.

Peter rolled his eyes. "You still think it's my fault Simone is dead? Newsflash, Isaac, you shot her, not me. Even worse still, if you'd shot me, I wouldn't have died! Now come on, we're leaving."

The artist grabbed the gun off of the floor. "I'm not going anywhere with you. I _write _comic books, I'm not supposed to be _in_ them!"

He pulled the hammer back and shot once more at Peter, hitting him dead square in the chest, unbelieving of what Peter had told him. Peter, however, made a strange face and lapsed into a coughing fit, spitting something out a second later. He smiled at Isaac as he held up the bullet. "See? We're going now."

He disappeared before Isaac's eyes, just as he'd done before Simone had been killed. Isaac stood there looking puzzled as Peter walked up to him, drew back, and punched him in the face. He slumped over and Peter hoisted him over to the windowsill. Couldn't things ever be easy?

* * *

**Meanwhile...**

Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth as Sylar lifted himself off of the wet pavement. What was that he was lying in? He adjusted his eyesight and saw the puddle of blood beneath him and the glass shards lying all around and felt the pieces that were on his hair and skin scratch at the surface as he moved.

Sylar stood, brushing the glass from his aching body and let a grin slid across his face. If Peter Petrelli could play games, so could he. There was no way he was letting either of them slip through his fingers. _And maybe following their trail will lead me to more..._

* * *

**THE PETRELLI HOUSEHOLD**

**HYDE PARK, NEW YORK**

_I've got to be dreaming_, Isaac told himself. _It's the drugs, it's got to be. _He had just awoken in an elegant bedroom, still covered in paint and what he thought might be blood. _Where the hell am I?_

"How are you feeling?" Peter asked him. He had been sitting, invisible, in a chair on the other side of the room.

"My head hurts," Isaac complained.

Peter shrugged. "I had to hit you, you were trying to kill me. You're at my brother's house, by the way. We're in Hyde Park now. Do you remember what happened?"

"Yeah, I do." he replied, rubbing his aching head.

"Come on, there's a few people I want you to meet." Peter told him, and opening the door to lead him out into the hallway.

Nathan's office was a few doors down and they found him at his desk, looking rather bored. Mohinder, Claire, and the Haitian all sat opposite him. Everyone's gaze turned to them as they entered, Isaac taking a seat, and Peter opting to lean against the desk.

"This must be Isaac?" Mohinder ventured, noticing the paint splotches on the man's clothes. "Thank God you're alive. I'm Doctor Mohinder Suresh, I'm a geneticist - perhaps you received my phone message?"

Isaac nodded. "Yeah, I got it." - he broke off suddenly, his eyes falling on the Haitian. "What are _you_ doing here? Where's Bennet?"

"He is... otherwise preoccupied." The Haitian replied. "You should no longer attempt to contact him at the number he has given you - your call will not be returned and you just might end up somewhere you would not like to be."

"Dead?" Isaac ventured.

The Haitian stared him down. "You would wish to be."

Isaac noticed Claire for the first time, "And who is she, then?"

"I'm Claire Bennet," she replied. "I guess you know my dad already."

He smiled. "I've painted you! You're the cheerleader!"

"You've painted me?" she returned.

Peter chimed in, "I saw the paintings, that's why I knew I had to save you. That's why I flew to Texas from New York. Truth is, I kind of knew I was going to die before I pushed Sylar off of that roof, Isaac painted it."

"I painted you dead," Isaac replied. "This means that not everything I paint comes true!"

Peter corrected him as soon as the words had left Isaac's lips. "No, that painting - that wasn't Claire. It was another cheerleader, Jackie. Sylar got them mixed up. She's really dead."

He was crestfallen - "I'm sorry," he said. "The other girl I painted was you, then. You were saved - Save the cheerleader, save the world. What does it mean? And where is Hiro Nakamura?"

"Hiro Nakamura?" Mohinder said. "From Tokyo, Japan? He's on my father's list but I haven't had any luck in contacting him. I've heard that name somewhere else before..."

Peter grinned. "How about when I told you he stopped time and told me to 'save the cheerleader'? Believe me now?"

"You are all connected more than you know," The Haitian told them. "Hiro Nakamura's father, Kaito. I have met him only once and I know that he is working with The Company. I have heard your father and Thompson speak of him and I know that he is the one who gave you to him to raise, it was on their wishes. They took you from the burning house when they tried to apprehend your mother."

Nathan sat by, looking disturbed as he learned the details of his daughter's "death". It had all been so simple - if only he had been there, he could have taken her and flown away and this might never have happened... Peter gave him a sudden and perplexed look, to which Nathan shook his head slightly. _Could Peter read minds, too, now?_

Before the information pool could continue, however, a small boy appeared in the doorway of the office.

"Simon? Why aren't you doing your homework?" Nathan asked his son.

Simon Petrelli looked around the varied faces in the room before rushing in to hug his father. "Is everything OK, Dad?" he asked.

Nathan smiled. "Yeah, everything is fine - these are just some friends of mine and Uncle Peter's. Now go on, go do your homework. I'll see you at dinner."

The boy agreed and gave his uncle a hug before leaving, giving the room another glance as he rounded the corner. Claire smiled - that was her _real_ little brother, or, one of them at least. She wondered, though, would Nathan tell his other two children about her, or would she remain a family friend?

"Sorry about that," Nathan said, breaking the silence with a smile. "Kids. My mother has informed me that she's got the chef cooking up enough food to feed a small army, so you're all welcome to stay for dinner with us. I think we've all still got a lot of ground to cover, here."


	12. Broken Hallelujah

**Disclaimer: This is what has been keeping me entertained since the "Heroes" hiatus began. I'm not doing it to make money - I own _nothing_. Got it? Good.**

**AN: So yeah, I'm sorry this update took so long! It was actually done a few days ago but the phantom was back and I couldn't upload it ( ) lol. So here it is, please R&R - I promise it will come to a conclusion before Monday! **

**CHAPTER 12**

**"BROKEN HALLELUJAH"**

**SYLAR**

**NEW YORK CITY**

The door creaked open and the familiar room came into view. It was lacking in the decor that had once adorned it and the apartment didn't seem to offer the same welcoming as it had done before. _When Gabriel lived here_, he mused, gazing around. Something told him that Suresh had been here, had found this place, or, perhaps, Bennet. Yes, that must be it - Suresh wouldn't have cleared out all of his possessions.

He walked further into the room and walked steadily down the hallway. There was the string of light bulbs hanging along the ceiling, and there was the door. He entered the small room where he had once hidden away from the world and all of its cruelties. All of the writing on the wall, the begs for forgiveness, they had all been destroyed. He didn't swell with anger at the realization that his life had disappeared - no, he relished the moment. That man that he had been before, he no longer existed to anyone but himself.

Sitting on the floor, he lowered his head in a moment of meditation. The world was changing, people were changing. He hadn't needed either Suresh to tell him that. He could almost feel all of the others out there, their powers beckoning to him. These people were weak, insignificant - _Such banal containers for such extraordinary powers,_ he mused. _They're wasted on them_. People who were too frightened to use their abilities - Brian Davis, for example - these people did not deserve the power that they'd been given.

He stood up and removed a souvenir from his jacket pocket - a marker that he'd stolen from Isaac Mendez, a marker that Peter Petrelli had used as a weapon against him. He removed the cap and in the black ink, traced a serpentine pattern onto the blank concrete wall followed by three short lines jutting out from the soft curves of the 'S' shape. "GODSEND" he scrawled beneath it, followed by another phrase, "Forgive me Father, for I have sinned."

_"Gabriel," a voice called out to him. "Gabriel, your mother says dinner is ready."_

_The young man looked up from the wrist watch that he had been examining and removed his glasses. "I'm not hungry," he told his father._

_The weathered man sighed. "She's worried about you, Gabriel, can't you see that? You spend all day in here, you rarely even speak to us anymore!"_

_"I'm fine. Besides, how can she criticize me when this is exactly what _you_ do all day?" Gabriel replied, his dark eyes locking onto his father's. "You want us to take on the shop one day so that you can retire. It won't work unless at least one of your sons knows how to repair watches, right?"_

_"At least your brother eats, Gabriel!" his father returned. "Come to dinner, please."_

_Gabriel let out a long sigh and pushed his chair back from the well lit desk. "Fine," he replied, following his father out of the room._

Always being told what to do or how to behave. Always expected to be something else when all he wanted to do was live his own life. He had felt so dejected. His older brother had always been the popular one, had always gotten the girl, played sports, and, though she never said it, was always their mother's favorite. He liked to think that their father didn't play that game. Despite working together for so long and sharing the same passion for timepieces, the two had never exactly seen eye to eye. He just never seemed to understand his younger son and why he would want to do anything but repair watches at his shop.

_"Hello, Gabriel," a man said, walking through the front door of Gray and Sons, the small bell above it announcing the new arrival. "How's business?" _

_Gabriel smiled politely. "Not so bad, how about you, Ernie?"_

_"Business is booming, kiddo," he replied. "Where's your dad? I've got something to ask him about."_

_His expression dropped and he returned to his work bench. "I guess you didn't hear, then. My father is dead, Ernie. He died of a heart attack a couple of weeks ago. We had a small service, just family. I thought my mother had told everyone."_

_"Oh, I'm sorry, Gabriel, really am." The portly man told him, taking a seat and slipping a small, metal flask out of his jacket pocket. "Wanna drink?" _

_"No, no thank you." Gabriel replied, holding up a hand. "My father wouldn't approve of it, I'm afraid. My brother refuses to take any part in this place so it's up to me to keep it running now and drinking on the job isn't going to help any."_

_Ernie took a swig from his flask, regardless. "He'd be glad, ya know. Really would be. Your brother, not to say anything about the family, but he's a bad seed, that one. I'm just glad he's got someone like you to look out for him. I'll stop by later, Gabe. Tell your ma I send my condolences."_

_And with that Ernie staggered out of the shop. Something told Gabriel that that had not been the first drink he'd taken from the flask that morning. He returned to the antique watch that he had been repairing - Sylar, 1917. German made. He had been working on it for seven years, now, and it was nearly finished. He had just begun to work when he heard the bell that signaled the door opening ring once more. He looked over at the door, expecting to see Ernie again, surprised to see a new man standing entering the building..._

Chandra Suresh had changed his life. _And for the better_, he mused. His thoughts were interrupted as he heard a creaking from the apartment's living room. Sylar smiled. _How many times am I going to have to kill him?_ He stood as effortlessly as possible and glided into the room without a sound. No one. He listened for the faintest trace of movement, a heartbeat, the rustling of clothes - nothing. He raised an eyebrow as he surveyed the door which stood open a hair._ He'll be back_, he thought. _And then I'm going to kill him... and this time, it's going to be permanent._

**AN: Yeah, yeah, I know, another short one. Hope you all like my take on everyones favorite psychopath's backstory ;)**


	13. A Life More Ordinary

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Tim King is my hero. So is Peter Petrelli... And Sylar... And Mohinder... And Isaac... And Hiro!**

**A/N: Yeah, 1,900 words before Disclaimer and A/Nlongest chapter so far. Last chapter? No. I'll be back tonight or tomorrow with the FINAL CHAPTER. Yes, that's rigth, the LAST ONE. But don't worry, there'll be more "Heroes" fics from me in the future **

**CHAPTER 13**

**"A LIFE MORE ORDINARY"**

**HYDE PARK, NEW YORK**

Claire sat on the bed, her legs folded underneath her, examining the stitching in the comforter. She should have felt ecstatic, but there was something tearing a hole in her brain. Sure, she had a family now, a real, biological family, but how were Heidi and Nathan's children going to react to her? Would he even tell his sons? What was going to happen to her?

Lost in thought, she barely even registered the knock at her door. "Claire, you ok?" Peter's muffled voice asked.

She sprang from the bed and pulled the door open, suddenly thrilled to see her uncle. "Yeah, I'm fine."

He smiled that crooked smile of his and pulled her into a hug before placing his hands on her shoulders and holding her at arms length. "Ya know, life has been pretty crazy lately. I mean, it's not every day you find out you've got... an _ability_, let alone another member of the family! I can't believe no one ever told me anything about you.

"Well, I was pretty young. I barely remember Meredith, actually. I only met her once, but I liked her. She was sweet. I'm sorry you never really got to know her. I heard she'd died, I remember Nathan going to her funeral, but no one ever told me about, well, you! And here you are! I mean, things are pretty hectic right now, but you're going to love New York! I'll have to take you sightseeing. The City is so great if you've never really been."

Claire gave him a puzzled look. "They didn't tell you? Meredith, my mom, she's still alive. She started the fire; she's been living all of these years thinking that she killed me. She's special, too. I don't know if my dad knew that, but she is. She can do this thing... she can set fires with her bare hands. She showed me - she just opened her palm and there was this fire there!"

Peter smiled. "I'd like to meet her again, sometime."

"Yeah, so would I," Claire returned. "She said she was going to Mexico for a while, again. She gave me this necklace that she got there. It was so pretty, but it was in our house when... When everything got crazy."

"What happened, exactly?" Peter asked as he and Claire took seats on the edge of the bed.

She let out a sigh. "My mom, my adoptive mom, at least, she keeps seeing things she shouldn't. So my dad calls up the Haitian and tells him to wipe her memory. He told me he's done it a lot. She got a bruise on her brain and we took her to the hospital while my dad was on a "business trip". He came home and I confronted him. When we got home, the cop, Matt Parkman, he was there and this other guy, Ted. I think Matt is the person you picked up the mind reading from. He did it to all of us. Thank God you haven't met Ted, though! He's actually radioactive! He almost blew up our house!"

"Did you just say _radioactive_?" Peter exclaimed.

"Yeah, kinda weird, huh?" Claire replied. "Your mom, my grandma, whatever I should be calling her, she told me about you, Peter. She told me you're supposed to explode like that. That's why you took off."

Peter ran a hand through his damp hair and inhaled deeply. "Yeah, but if what you said is right, this Ted guy, he's radioactive... Maybe my dream just meant that I'm supposed to stop him? I learned how to control my powers, now. Maybe not as well as I'd like to, but they haven't let me down yet."

"That's great!" she exclaimed. "So... since you're not going to blow up, can you take me sight-seeing?"

Peter laughed before being tackled in a hug by his niece. "Fine, fine, we'll go sight-seeing if you don't strangle me first! Now come on, dinner is ready, and, knowing my mother, she's probably going to kill me for not bringing you down there right away. I'd like to be able to survive her wrath."

"Yeah, well you've died before. At least you haven't made it to the autopsy table, yet." Claire returned with a smile.

On the way out the door, Peter flashed her a lopsided grin before asking, "Did I mention I got thrown off of a thirty-story building, the other day? It was the first time a cab ever caught _me_!"

* * *

Dinner was the most awkward experience anyone at the table had ever encountered. Peter had never seen Nathan cycle through so many facial expressions with so few words or in one sitting before. Meanwhile, Heidi in-between their sons, her face giving off an emotion somewhere between confusion and utter disbelief, picked at her food. The Haitian sat between Isaac and Mohinder, looking entirely out of place, in his placidness. Isaac's eyes kept shifting around everyone at the table, as though trying to remember details of their faces, while Mohinder ate in silence. Claire and Peter sat together, Angela on the other side of Claire, and reminding her through subtle nudges which fork she ought to use and to fold her napkin in her lap.

_Good Lord, this is awkward,_ Claire mused. Beside her, Peter smiled as if to say, _Tell me about it_.

"Well, since we're all here, I guess it's time we make the proper introductions, wouldn't you agree?" Angela said, about a quarter of the way through the meal.

Peter introduced his mother to Isaac and Mohinder, and she took the same liberty to introduce the Haitian.

"Don't you have a name?" Claire asked, feeling suddenly embarrassed at her rudeness as Monty and Simon each snorted into their plates.

"I do, Claire," he replied. "But sometimes these things are best kept secret."

Claire's rudeness was relieved when Simon spoke up to Claire. "How came no body told us who _you_ are?" he asked. "Are you Uncle Peter's new girlfriend?"

The mood lifted instantly, if only briefly. Claire, Peter, and Nathan each found themselves laughing at the boy's comment, and all Claire could do was to shake her head. "No! Nothing like that!"

Nathan sighed and smiled lightly before turning to his sons. "Simon, Monty, Claire is your big sister. She was missing for a long time."

"Correction," Heidi inserted. "Claire is your half-sister. Her mom and dad were friends a very long time ago."

She felt relieved and worried, all the same. _Do they understand? I hope they don't think I'm trying to steal their dad!_ Her fears melted as her two brothers hopped down from their chairs next to her stepmother and ran over to hug her. Claire's face exploded into another smile, as she hugged each of them.

"Will you tell us stories?" Monty asked in his small voice.

"And play action figures?" Simon added.

Claire smiled. "Most definitely! You'll have to show me your toys after dinner!"

"Yay!!" the boys shouted in union before proceeding to hop up and down around the dining room, lightening the mood.

"Some family reunion," Isaac mused with a smile.

* * *

The second the plates were cleared from the table, Claire was whisked away, a child grabbing onto each of her hands and dragging her off to the playroom to barrage her with an extensive inventory of every single toy in the Petrelli household. She gave her uncle a pleading look to save her - She'd gone through this once with Lyle, not to mention sitting for her neighbor's children!

"You're on your own on this one," he told her, sharing a laugh with his brother for the first time in what seemed like years.

"Peter, you're not going to believe this," Mohinder said from the corner of the room, where he sat in a plush armchair, laptop open. "They're investigating the incident at your apartment, Isaac. It says that blood was found all over the scene, but no bodies were recovered. '_There was a large pool of blood, consistent with a death, below the shattered window of Mr. Mendez's apartment, but no body was found at the scene. It is possible that the body was transported,_' " He read.

The entire room's attention was on Peter now.

"You told me he was dead!" Isaac recalled. "He had no pulse. How can he just get up and walk away?"

"How the hell am I supposed to know?" Peter retorted. "There was nothing! Unless he heals, too."

Nathan let out a bark of a laugh. "Great! Just what we need - a psychopath that can keep growing back appendages."

The room was filled with a loud beeping from Peter's cell phone as it rang beside him. He flipped it open, looking at the number, before answering.

"Hello?" he asked, sounding somewhat skeptical.

There was a pause. "Peter Petrelli?"

It was a woman's voice. She had an accent Peter couldn't seem to place. "Yeah, that's me. Who is this? How did you get my number?"

"The same way I got your address, and your brothers. That's where you are now, isn't it? Hyde Park?" she asked.

"Who the hell are you? What do you want from me?" Peter asked.

"A mutual friend has told me where to find you. He says you're going to need my help. I'll be in New York shortly. Be ready." She told him cryptically.

Peter attempted a retort, only to find the line dead.

"What was that?" Nathan asked.

He shrugged. "I'm not sure, but she's coming here."

* * *

**SOMEWHERE BETWEEN NEVADA AND NEW YORK**

Hana's flight seemed to be taking forever. Just a few hours prior, she had been sitting at the bar inside of the Corinthian Casino, just as the message had instructed her to. She wasn't the type to want to follow orders - she didn't want to be anyone's pawn - but this was different. She had read this man's blog and, from what she could tell, he was someone she could trust.

She had ordered the drink that he had told her to - A Vesper Martini, exactly in the styling of a certain secret agent. It had arrived with a new coaster, the man apologizing for the damp state of the old one. To her surprise, the coaster stayed attached as she picked up the drink to take a sip. Looking down, Hana had caught a glimpse of what looked like Kanji.

Hana furrowed her brow, unable to read the strange symbols.Opening her mind to the flood of information, she found the translation almost instantly. _Hana_. _Flower_. This was her contact's idea of making contact? Good plan.

She flipped over the coaster, reading the neat handwriting on the bottom.

_Hana, you do not know me but you will soon. We will work together one day. My name is Hiro Nakamura. You must find Peter Petrelli. He will be with his brother, Nathan, in New York. Go to him. You _must_ protect the painter. __Tishlach Lo Dash Mimeni._

She folded the note and slipped it into her purse. She took another sip of her drink before setting it down, paying her bill, and leaving. Hana began searching the web, looking for an address for Nathan Petrelli and a quick flight into New York. Now, as her plane approached, rain covered the city in a veil of mystery and intrigue that the former Mossad operative refused to ignore.

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

* * *

**Tishlach Lo Dash Mimeni is "tell him to take care" in Hebrew. I looked it up. If it's wrong, and anyone speaks Hebrew, let me know and I'll fix it **

* * *


	14. It's Time To Save The World

**DISCLAIMER: I still own nothing. Talk to Tim Kring ;)**

**A/N: I really meant to get this up here Sunday, but life got in the way :S Anyway, here it is, the finale! I really hope you like it Please R&R!**

**CHAPTER 14**

**"IT'S TIME TO SAVE THE WORLD"**

**HYDE PARK, NEW YORK**

A heavy knock sounded from the front door of Nathan's home. Peter stood up from the sofa he'd been reclining on, his feet propped up. He held up a hand as Nathan made an attempt to follow him.

"No, she's trying to reach me - maybe I should talk to her first," he told him.

He traced the path to the doorway and, just before he opened it, felt a rush of information surge into his brain. He tried to stifle a scream as the flood continued. Peter concentrated as much energy as he could on shutting it off, until he realized what was happening. _E-mails? Text messages? What the hell is happening to me?_

Nathan grabbed onto Peter's arm as his brother's legs gave out. "Peter? What's going on? Are you ok? Talk to me?"

"I'm fine," he panted. "Fine."

Mohinder caught up with them as Nathan pulled the door open to see a woman standing outside. She was dressed all in black with heavy boots on her feet and stands of dark, wet hair framing her angular face.

"What did you do to him?" Nathan accused as she stepped into his house, wiping her boots on the mat.

"I have no idea what you are talking about, Mr. Petrelli." she replied.

"The hell, you don't." he shot back, helping Peter to his feet.

Peter shook his head. "It's ok, she didn't do anything." He turned to the woman. "You're like me, aren't you? You can see the internet, can't you?"

She furrowed her brow. "How do you know?"

"I can do what you can do," he replied. "I'm Peter, by the way."

"Hana Gittleman. I received a message from Hiro Nakamura. He told me to contact you, to tell you to protect Isaac, the painter." she told him as they shook hands. "I heard that something happened at his apartment, is he alive?"

Peter nodded. "Yeah, he's crashed on the couch in the other room."

"Hana Gittleman? You're on my father's list," Mohinder said. "I'm Doctor Mohinder Suresh. My father was friends with a psychiatrist in Israel. They took samples of your blood, yes?"

Hana nodded. "Yes, that was a long time ago. I didn't know I was special until a man took me, this, Bennet. He misled me. He told me he was C.I.A. He sent me on a mission and left me for dead in the middle of Africa. Now I think he's one of the only people we can trust."

The Haitian stood on the staircase. "You have been in contact with him, yes?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"You could say that I, as well as he , have gone rogue." He told her. "They are working towards a future that cannot happen. Your friends, they are the ones who have put us in this danger. Your plan revealed Claire's abilities. Thompson knew that I was protecting her."

"Claire? His daughter," Hana mused aloud. "She's one of us?"

Peter was tempted to state that Claire was not Bennet's daughter, but kept his mouth shut, noting the look on his brother's face. They'd just met this woman, after all.

"Yeah, she is. She's here now," Nathan replied.

"It's starting to sound like all of us are being toyed with. One thing is certain, though - we've got to protect Isaac from whoever is out to get him." Hana stated.

"Sylar," Peter replied. "This man, if you can even call him that, he's tried to kill, well, most of us. Isaac, Mohinder, Claire, even me. Well, he did more than try to kill me, but I got him back. He _was_ dead. Not so much, anymore, though."

"Well would anyone care to find out where he's gone and where he's going next?" A voice asked from out of nowhere.

Claude Raines stepped out from an alcove, startling the room's occupants.

"Claude?" Peter asked. "How come I couldn't see you?"

He shrugged. "Apparently you weren't looking for someone you knew couldn't be there. I've learned a lot since I took off on you the other day, friend. I followed you a bit more. You're really predictable, you know that? I saw the aftermath of the spat you had with your painter friend, there, Isaac. Bennet, an old friend of mine who shot me and left me for dead, dropped by his place with some help - that's how come the cops never found anything there.

"It's good to see you again, friend," he said, this time addressing the Haitian. "Glad to see you've switched sides."

The Haitian hinted at a smile. "And what is it that makes you think that I have not always been on this side?"

"Look, this is touching and all, but we're here for a reason in case no one's forgotten." Hana interjected. "If this Sylar is as bad as you say he is, we have to keep our guard up, each of us. We can take turns babysitting or we can be assertive about this - we can hunt him down. Then we can kill him."

Claude smiled. "No need to hunt him down, love. I know exactly where we'll find him."

"Wait, you do?" Peter asked suddenly. "How?"

"I followed you, remember? I saw you at Isaac's, and I saw you _kill_ Sylar. He's back at his old apartment, now. I followed him in there, think I spooked him a bit, too."

"Uncle Claude!" Claire exclaimed, appearing at the top of the stairs. She bolted, nearly knocking the Haitian over as she threw her arms around the man. "What's going on? And who is she?"

"She's Hana. She's a friend." Peter told her.

Claire rolled her eyes at her uncle, as if to say, "is that all?" Peter shook his head and let out a snort of laughter.

"So what's everyone talking about without me? Did something happen?" she asked.

"No, not yet." Peter replied. "We're just trying to figure out what the hell is going on here."

"We may never understand this," Mohinder began. "What is happening to all of you, why all of our paths have collided the way they have, why this is happening to us - Everything happens for a reason. Sometimes the reasons are more clear than others, but the explanation is what leaves us asking questions. the answer we're searching for, what we are meant to do, is, for once, simple. It's time to save the world."

The occupants of the room - Peter, Nathan, Claire, Mohinder, Claude, The Haitian, and Hana all looked around at each other and nodded in agreement. This is what they had all been waiting for - this was their chance to make a difference.

* * *

**HIRO AND ANDO**

**NEW YORK CITY, ****FIVE YEARS IN THE FUTURE...**

Hiro Nakamura stood atop the Deveaux building, staring out at the skyline of a decimated New York City. Oh no! he exclaims sadly. The bomb, we didn't stop it. I failed.

He looked to his friend for support, but Ando could do nothing more than look out over the horizon. Cranes could be seen everywhere, rebuilding from the destruction.

We'll go back, Hiro said. We'll find another way to stop this.

**THE END.**

* * *

**Thanks to everyone who's kept up with this fic! The reviews were always awesome and the constructive criticism helped mold this one a lot! I really hoped everyone enjoyed it and thought that I portrayed the characters close to how we see them every Monday night. Happy Heroes watching, and don't think you've seen the last of me! ;) Up, up, and away!**

** L'Ange **


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